Kerst het meest treurige feest.

Ik heb het nooit zo goed begrepen, maar voor mij was Kerst altijd een diep treurig feest. Niet altijd, niet toen ik nog een kleine jongen was en niets van grote-mensen-dingen afwist. Niet toen mijn opa nog leefde en met vredig lieve dominantie de emoties van de familieleden in toom wist te houden. Alleen al zijn aanwezigheid daarvoor was genoeg. Kerst is het feest dat ik meer dan 10 jaar listig wist te vermijden.

Mijn oma is een mensje van de dag geworden en alleen voor haar ga ik de kwelling met open vizier aan. Dit jaar zouden we wat vroeger van start gaan dus ik had gezegd om een uur of 5 s'avonds te arriveren. Thuis was ik mezelf verbluffend aan het tegenwerken en aan het treuzelkonten. Op de bijna verlaten snelweg ging mijn voiture ook al niet harder dan 120. Ik weet het, op het onbewuste niveau wilde ik het liefst thuisblijven, alleen met mijn katten en een steen op mijn hart. Maar ik had de moed niet. Een anderhalve uur later en een half uur te laat, druk ik de deurbel en na wat gestommel doet mijn moeder open. "aan de deur wordt niet gekocht" is haar opmerking. Nieuw is haar grap niet en nog minder leuk. Mijn moeder noemt dat humor, ik noem dat bitterheid. Ik kom binnen met de kadootjes onder de arm en zie tot mijn verbazing dat iedereen al aan het uitbuiken is. "je zou toch om vijf uur hier zijn" klinkt het verontschuldigend. Ik mompel nog iets van een mobiele telefoon en waarom men dan niet even belt en snel langs de volle tafel de serre in om mijn jas af te leggen. Bij mezelf vraag ik me af hoe het mogelijk is dat je om 5 uur afspreekt en dat er meteen ook om 5 uur gegeten moet worden. Ik begin met het begroeten van de nieuw vrijer van mijn zusje. Nerveus lacht hij me toe. Voor hem ben ik de messias die hem uit het spervuur van "humor" van mijn moeder houdt. Ik knuffel mijn oma geef mijn moeder een vluchtige kus en negeer haar vriend. Schijnbaar heeft hij instructies gekregen en pakt meteen zijn spullen om te vertrekken. Ik schuif aan en krijg meteen een vol bord eten. Mijn moeder begint meteen met een paar grappen over "Wim" de nieuwe vrijer van mijn zus. Hij draait ongemakkelijk op zijn stoel. Ik knipoog naar hem en maak een paar snedige opmerkingen richting mijn moeder. Zo de toon is gezet. Ik weet hoe ze normaal als een locomotief met haar cynisme iemand neerwalst, en ik kan me alleen maar voorstellen wat hij heeft moeten doormaken de afgelopen maanden.

Na het eten wordt mijn neefje wakker en springt als een bezetene op me, hij geeft me een warme knuffel waar ik helemaal van smelt. Ik fluister hem in zijn oortje dat zijn oom een paar heel mooie kadootjes heeft meegebracht. We zitten inmiddels met zijn allen in de woonkamer. De TV aan (gelukkig). Ik heb een hekel aan TV maar alleen op Kerstavond is het een bondgenoot. Ik schakel in mijn selectieve doofheidsmodus en staar onbewogen naar de bewegende beelden. Ondertussen begint mijn moeder alle verhalen uit het verleden op te rakelen. De nieuwe vrijer van mijn zus is de pineut. Onzeker en verlegen als hij is, is hij een gemakkelijk slachtoffer. Hij zit ook in een ongemakkelijke positie aangezien hij de TV niet kan zien. Hij kan alleen maar in de richting van mijn moeder kijken en daarmee is zijn lot bezegelt. Ik wist dit van te voren en koos zorgvuldig mijn plek uit. Ik besef ineens dat het de plek van mijn opa is en gniffel van binnen. Ik herinner mij ineens dat hij ook altijd voor "doof" speelde. De avond gaat snel voorbij dankzij de inhoudsloze tv-programma's met hoog entertainmentsgehalte. Het is tijd voor mijn zus om te gaan. Ik neem snel afscheid van mijn neefje en ze zijn weg. Ik sip een beetje aan de punch. Ik zit nu alleen met mijn omaatje en mijn moeder. Ai het is moelijk om haar nu nog te negeren. Ze praat nog over ditjes en datjes en zegt ineens: "Ik wil jou andere zus onterven". Ik schrik op. Ze noemt nooit haar naam. Ik had veel verwacht maar niet zo'n onderwerp op Kerstavond. Ik weet even een moment niet wat te zeggen. Ik begin over verdraagzaamheid en over stappen die haast omonkeerbaar lijken, over misverstanden en wijsheid en er nog eens goed over na te denken. Ik zie het gezicht van mijn moeder verharden. Ze begint over haar pijn over haar leven en haar eeuwige slachtofferrol. Ik sta op en ga naar het toilet. Even rust, even een vlucht. Ik kom terug en zeg hardop, "het is al laat en ik moet nog een eindje sturen". Ik pak mijn jas en geef mijn oma nog een warme knuffel. Al die tijd heeft ze stil gezeten en weinig gezegd. Ze wisselde af en toe een lieve lach naar me uit. Sinds mijn opa in haar armen stierf zit ze in een soort van emotionele dementie. Ik voel een traan opkomen. Gehaast pak ik mijn tas en geef mijn moeder gauw een kus. Ik draai de straat uit met Brian Ferry op de achtegrond, slave to love....

empty

I stare at the empty screen. My heart feels like there is a rock resting on it. I try to understand the situation. Why things escalate. I have many why's. I have no answers. I had the trust that things are ok. That I don't have to worry about this special relation I feel. But I guess that I am to much of a dreamer. And didn't see the dark clouds gathering. I thought we have the ultimate relation. That we are so much alike that not much needed to be said to understand. But also in this I was wrong. I wanted to believe to much it is like I thought it is. But the truth hurts. I guess I created my own reality. There is so much love running thru my vains. But the love is not received, not recognized. Maybe it's to hard on this distance, maybe it's impossible. I thought our love would cross this distance and make us strong for the difficulte times we would face. Now I feel like a small baby. There is no one to cover me. No one to hold me. I am alone like I was before. I just wanted to live an breath. Not wait untill the certain day. I wanted to explore and experience and share my adventures with my love. To give content to our conversations, exchanging our stories so that we are able to let the fire keep on burning. Now I am afraid the fired died. Not in me. I will always love her. But I guess for somebody else this is just hollow words. I am not capable to put in words what I feel. I am not capable coz it's words where I would wish to make her feel, by touch, kiss, embracing and making love. But all this is impossible for now. I feel cold, emtpy and vulnerable. I feel once more thrown in a black pit. I am not sure if I can get out on own strength. I guess I have no other option. I lost my trust that love is possible in this world. I only had my share of impossibilities.......

België

Hier ben ik komen wonen, omdat ik Nederland niet meer kon uitstaan. De haat werd groter dan de liefde. Het is nooit mijn land geweest doordat het altijd vreemd voor me was. Dit door de mix van Indisch, Nederlands, Noord-Holland en Limburgs bloed. Ik was vlees nog vis voor de anderen. Ik ondervond al op jonge leeftijd de "tolerante" houding van Nederlanders t.a.v. Nederlanders met een gemengde afkomst. Het maakte mij ontheemd maar het maakt ook een wereldburger van me. En op een dag was de maat vol. De schijnheiligheid en te foute tolerantie, ik vertrok naar een land dat vooral niet schijnheilig is en vooral niet tolerant. Het Goede doel had mijn geïnspireerd. Hier als vreemdeling tussen vreemdelingen voel ik mij thuis. Misschien soms geïsoleerd, maar er zijn andere wegen om dat isolement niet te voelen. Voor mij is dat vooral fotografie. Maar nu, politieke crisis in België. Walen kunnen niet meer met de Vlamingen maar misschien nog meer dat de Vlamingen niet meer met de Walen kunnen. Althans dat is wat de politici en sommige populisten ons willen laten geloven. De gewone Vlaming wil nog steeds een heerlijke petite Jambonneau eten in de Ardennen, en de Waal wil ook graag een dagje verdwalen in Antwerpen. Maar wat nu. Er wordt al geroepen om de Vlamingen aan te laten sluiten met Nederland. En dat is het punt. Dat is mijn grootste angst. Het schrikt mij af. Ik begin al naarstig te zoeken op internet bij makelaars naar vervallen boerderijtjes in de Arndennen. Mijn koffers staan al bijna gepakt. Het schrikbeeld spookt door mijn hoofd die schijnheilige kop van Balkenende te moeten aanschouwen als mijn nieuwe premier, Wilders met zijn knettergek geraas in de 2de kamer. Rita Verdonk met haar zieke beeldspraak over de "gewone" nederlander en haar "duidelijke" taal. Nee ik wil liever Leterme die het volkslied niet kent. De stoethaspels en de loosers in de Belgische politiek. Laat mij alsjeblieft hier zijn, rustig ver weg van het gekonkel van Nederland. Ik voel me juist zo goed in deze geordende chaos. Deze Nederlander zegt: Laat België alsjeblieft voortbestaan........

Overgave!

Ik was 14 toen ik een stukje las. Het was een vodje papier met gekopieerde tekst. Ik weet niet meer waar het vandaan kwam en hoe het in mijn bezit was gekomen. Maar ik weet nog hoe ik het rode wangetjes las. Het was een korte beschrijving van het verhaal van O, oftewel Histoire d'O. Het fascineerde mij. Waarom het dat toen deed weet ik niet, maar ik was er nieuwsgierig naar, bijna obsessief. Het verhaal prikkelde mijn diepste fantasiën. Het heeft mij nooit meer losgelaten.

Vandaag, ik was voor zaken in Brussel. Voor de lunch liet ik mijzelf verleiden even een passend koffietentje te vinden. Arcadi op de hoek van de Arenbergstraat en de Koningsgalerij. Une Tarte citron de merengue met een petite espresso. Na de lunch liep ik de Koningsgalerij in. Ik slenterde wat rond en hield op een gegeven moment halt voor een DVD/DC winkel. Wat mij opviel was de hoeveelheid aan Film Noir die de etalage sierden. Als een magneet werd ik naar binnen getrokken. Ik zocht eigenlijk de film Angel-A van Luc Besson die om onduidelijke redenen nooit in België of Nederland in de bioscoop is verschenen. Ik blijf als versteend staan bij een aantal DVD hoezen van Fellini. Daar stond hij dan de lang gezochte en vaak vergeten obsessie. Histoire d'O. Ik pak snel de verpakking en haast me naar de kassa. Ik bedacht me dat ik ook nog die andere film zocht. "Je cherchez un film de Luc Besson, Angel-A" vraag ik aan de verkoper. "Oui, au premier étage". Ik loop naar boven en vind al snel de film. Hij is ook nog afgeprijst wat een geluk.

Thuisgekomen speel ik met de dvd hoes in mijn handen. Zal ik gaan kijken. Zal ik teleurgesteld zijn? Ik besluit om de film op te zetten. Ik gooi alle verwachtingen overboord. Tenslotte is het een film uit 1975. Gekluisterd zit ik aan mijn scherm. Het beeld doet pijn aan mijn ogen van de hoeveelheid softfocus. De muziek is net zo vaag als bij Emanuelle. En de hoeveelheid erotiek verbleekt bij het sexuele geweld van heden ten dage. Eigenlijk is het een slap verhaal, wat alleen in die tijd een schokgolf teweeg bracht. Maar toch.

Het is het onderliggende gevoel wat mij raakt. En ineens besef ik waar het om gaat. Ik heb altijd een buitengewoon grote interesse gehad in het spel van dominantie en onderwerping. Vanuit dezelfde interesse observeerde ik ook BDSM. Het kon mij echter nooit helemaal bekoren. Ik begreep de mensen die het toepassen niet, ik begreep hun motivatie niet. Het bleef altijd bij iets van vernedering, overheersing, onderwerping, iets fysieks iets pijnlijks.

Deze film echter toonde me de ware aard achter al dit al, en ineens besefte ik dat al die mensen die met BDSM bezig zijn de plank volledig misslaan. Het gaat niet om onderwerping het gaat om overgave. De ultieme liefde voelen voor iemand en jezelf daarin volledig overgeven. En dat is meteen waar het in onze maatschappij aan ontbreekt. Overgave! We zitten vol verwachtingen, we hebben onze lijstjes klaar. We hebben zoveel teleurstellingen meegemaakt en stellen onze volgende ex alweer danig op de proef. Zij/hij krijgt te maken met alles wat haar/zijn voorgang(st)er heeft misdaan. We leven met angsten, we laten niet los. We willen vooral niet kwetsbaar zijn. Het internet is daarbij het ultieme middel geworden om al zappend van contact naar contact te springen. 1 verkeerd woord en met een druk op de knop geblokeerd, gewist of genegeerd, net zoals hier op Happy. We consumeren het contact met anderen zoals we mcnuggets consumeren.

Maar wat is nu de wezenlijk essentie van de Liefde? Zelfs de universele liefde? De essentie is de kracht om jezelf eraan over te geven. Je over te geven aan die persoon. Willoos en kwetsbaar, in een staat van je mag doen met me wat je wilt. Ik heb altijd de vrijheid om te gaan. Maar ik ben van jou en zolang ik daar voor kies mag je dat met mij doen. In het geval van "Histoire d'O" is het vooral ook iets fysieks en sexueels, het gaat om de ultieme liefde en daarvoor alles te doorstaan.

Ik geloof dat alleen door deze overgave we onszelf kunnen genezen en de weg naar onszelf hervinden. Ik geloof dat de overgave aan de liefde van iemand we ons ook overgeven aan het leven en het leven weer te voelen zoals het bedoeld is.

kittens in da house

2 weeks ago my lovely Shanti gave birth to 4 beautiful kids, here some pics:

Kate & me

Weirdo

So here it is, Kate is following extra classes to master english. The system of learning is called TOEFL. Recently Kate got a new tutor. He introduced himself as Dave and Dave comes from Canada. One day they were discussing relationships and this Dave started to ask questions around in the class. Naturally Kate came with her story on our relation, and he got interested by the fact that I am a "foreigner" (not Taiwanees), and the fact of age difference. So soon he got more interested and even started to have an opinion, and feelings of concern. My frist hunch was that this guy was actually trying to get closer to her, and I was right because soon after, to Kates suprise, he said something about that she should date a younger, cooler and more interesting guy. And that the relationship I have with her is not one with a future. It really burned my fuses that this guy had no respect at all, as a stranger ventilating his opinion, furthermore not take me serious at all with addressing Kate. So for my releave, and fun, I made this little game. I copied a picture from his myspace and created a little flash game where anybody can throw "Dave" around. It feels really releaving, distressing, relaxing, distracting and like a good therapy. I feel a bit like a voodoo master playing the puppet. So if there is anybody out there that feels frustrated about a person, feel free to send a picture and I will make a nifty little version for you too! Here you can find this nice little thing, have fun! Ow and by the way. You can use your mouse (click-hold) to throw and move the figure, so don't hold back at all!

My renewed website

Seperated

It took me some time to write again about my experiences and feelings. Kate left at 25th of august. Her leave was not without some trouble at the airfield. It's embarrasing to see that you are treated like cattle at an airport. That makes saying goodbye even more harsh and something cold. Because there is no time left for emotions or feelings the moment you check in. Humans seem to become more and more inhumane. This is the way we treat ourselves this is what became of our society. Because we wanted power and gadgets and things to fill our void.

But this story is about something else, it's about the first time we made love in Paris, our small room behind the wooden blinds and heavy curtains of the hotel. The sounds of the city murmur in the background. In the distance the last tourists are driven off of the mountain of Parnasse. The sacre coeur reflects in the pools from rain. But we, we are behind the curtains in our small double bedroom, fullfilling the desires that grew over nine months. Untill this very moment. It's hard to determine what feeling was stronger, lust, passion or love. But we gave in to it and we made our connection. We discussed it so many times, but imagination, fiction or fantasy stay always hypothetical and are washed away when the moment of truth arises. The real thing, the real touch, taste and rythm. This is the moment we waited for. It was always there from the beginning we knew it, we wanted it and we dit it. We did it in a special way, a way that will always remain our little secret. Something so specific and so planned that I can't imagine anybody else ever doing this. I feel rich and lucky to have experiencing it this way. Maybe one day, one day at all or maybe not, I may share it with someone. But till that day, it will remain the secret of Kate and me.

The homecoming to my place was suprisingly easy. Kate felt homy the moment she entered my house and from the first moment we were living like a couple, only a month. But a month is filled with many moments that are experienced like eternity. So a month was short and wasn't at all. We lived like a couple, again I say it to my surpise and I long for that very moment again. Our passion for food, cooking, our rythm and lifestyle that fits like a glove. The blanks she fills of me and the blanks I fill for her. Two minds one thought. Stable and strong. Of course we had our little differences, I like to call them minor. Because we are a kindred spirit. And we always find a way back. That's why I miss my Kate so much. It's not the fact that she left, because she was able to stay in my heart. But still, it leaves a big space, her being back in Taiwan.

I made this for my old friend Larissa's birthday. It took my PC 4 hours to calculate the movie. After that I had to add sound and work on the filesize. Here is the original quicktime movie....

Uh, uh, I personally believe that she should be the next person running as such as candidate for president.

The first kiss

(continued) For D. chedwick I was wearing my favourite Dior Homme.

She looks quickly around to see if she catches me. While waiting the arrival hall became pretty crowded. Kate catches my eyes and laugsh nervously. I think I give a same kind of reaction. I hurry to the place where she is heading behind the gates that seperates us from the exit of the customs area. Automatically I embrace her. She freezes a bit. Overwhelmed by my presence. I hold her for a moment and smell her scent of fresh violins. I move backwards and look her in her eyes. She gives me a quick look but then turn her eyes away. Kate is too shy and in away it pleases me. I tease her a bit with this fact and she returns with a fake angry face. I laugh and I take her suitcase. "let's leave this place I murmur" and take her by the hand. I find back the elevator that brought me here from the parking deck downstairs. 10 minutes later we find ourselves back at the A1 in direction Paris. Back in the hotel I have to leave Kate alone in the elevator because her oversized suitcase and her tender body fill it completely. I run 8 stairs up to be earlier then the elevator. Short of air I free Kate from the packed elevator. A few moments later we lay down on the bed. Without sound and without words we stair in the half dark at each other. The soft light of a rainy morning in Paris is falling through the curtains. I move closer to Kate. We say nothing. We feel just like kissing. Gently I touch her face, stroking it with the back of my hand. She is so soft, as soft as I imagined her. I move closer and I kiss her eyebrows, her nose and her cheeks. Then I kiss her lips, softly like a feather that touches the floor after a long descend. She responds in the same gentle way. Nine months we waited for this kiss. And now it's the moment. No hurry, no crazy passion, just this instant genlte and tender moment. We have time and we won't rush. We waited long enough not to destroy this infinite fairytale moment. It's even more perfect then we could imagine, though neither of us were having to much expectations. Even now writing about this very moment I feel that the power of it grows stronger and stronger. These are the very moments that shape our memories and are cherished forever. After our first explorations of kissing we start to feel hungry. After an hour or so I suggest to have breakfast. I long for a fresh baked croissant with a strong coffee. Kate jumps up and dissapears in the bathroom for a quick check up. I stare at the ceiling, I feel happy. (to be continued)......

the new bill on wiretapping in the states

It's sad to see that the U.S. turn into the former U.S.S.R. lookalike with their homeland security and the new bill that is passed for wiretapping. It's almost ironical. It was always the U.S. that was crying out loud the rights, the freedom, democracy, and condemning the system of the U.S.S.R. But secretly the men in power, secretly they dreamed of absolute power and a way to control the subjects in their country. The terrorists gave them all that was needed. And feeding the average american every day with bits and pieces to keep the fear alive gives them the oppertunity under the false flag of safety to take away rights and freedom day by day. This comes closer to George Orwell's (thanks D!) "1984" big brother is watching you. Before you know it turns back in to the system of red square and the same system Cauescu used. The securitate was a system based up one half of the population spying upon the other half. You never knew if your neighbour, your brother, your kid, your coworker or anybody else could be trusted.

The attacks of 9/11 were terrible, but were eventually easy to work out. All you needed was a big plane with kerosine to ingite the fire. But basically the terrorists are just a bunch of camel drivers hidden in caves, dreaming of burning the imperial Americas.

It's a simple sum to be calculated. What if, after the attacks of 9/11 there would have been no war on Irak? No war on terror? Just licking the wounds and change the foreign politics. Because at the end it's the dirty politics that created people like Osama Bin Laden. What if America would have retreated from the stage of dirty politics and focus on what can be repaired and change their image in the world? Let's face it, the U.S. is an agressor, though it be in disguise. It's all about the money. There won't be intervention from the U.S. in Darfur, because there is nothing to get, only dry sand and poor blacks. There won't be any intervention in Zimbabwe to get rid of Mugabe who is as bad as Saddam Hussein. Probably Mugabe signed a contract with the weapons industry in the states.

At the end poor bastards are send to Irak and Afganhistan to fight a lost war. The only thinkable reason is that the terrorists are attracted by the sitting ducks they are and keeping them away from the homeland. Because who would do all the effort to attack targets in America when they are on walking distance in the middle east? Another generation of young americans is wrecked, emotionally destroyed and ruined to have a normal life. After this war they will be just other rambo's with problems to adjust to society. Haunted by the visions of war and death.

It's a crazy world and I wonder of people are really missing the point here? Does everybody believe the crap politicians are telling us? In this light it would be interesting to see a movie like V for Vengeance, in my opinion this movie tells it all.

Kate has arrived

She is here, already now for nine days. I know I let everybody wait to continue the lovestory unfolding between us. I am sorry for that. It's just that this first week we were busy with each other and many things to do. And unfortunatly Kate feels very sick, she's got a cold and it looks like she has an acute Otitis. In one hour we will consult a doc.

Paris, that's where Kate would arrive. For the 2 simple reasons that it's much cheaper to fly to Paris then Amsterdam, and secondly who wouldn't like to meet his/her love in the city of Romance? I booked a beautiful little hotel in the quartier Opèra. It is one of the rare romantic hotels that can be found with beautiful furniture, colorfull classic rooms with rich wallpaper, curtains and bed linnen. With those typical Paris acenseurs (elevator), to small for ones suitcase and themselves. The hotel is situated at walking distance of the Sacre Coeur, and rue la Fayette. Kate would arrive at 6 AM at saturday morning so I arrived friday night to have a quick sleep before picking her up from Charles de Gaulle. I studied the route at least 10 times, to make sure that I would be there promptly. The idea of getting late was terrifying me.

It's 4 in the morning, I stretch myself and take a moment to think. It's still dark outside. I can hear my heart beat with a little excitement. This is it, the long awaited moment. I jump out of the bed, energetic. I take a shower, I let the hot water warm my body and it makes me feel even more energetic. The wet shave makes me feel fresh, I always stuck to wet shaving. I could never understand why somebody would use an electric lawnmower for ones face with the feeling of tearing the hair and burning the face. I check thoroughly that I am smooth like a babies bum. I get dressed, just jeans a t-shirt and my favourite spanish boots. I promised Kate not to overdress, because it would make her uncomfortable. Days before I was joking I would turn up in a 3-piece suit. I get my bag with papers and keys and head down to the reception desk. The night watch smiles at me and opens the front door. I turn left and leave the rue de la tour d'Auvergne and walk donwhill to the garage that is near rue de la Fayette. I get a bit cranky by the thought of paying 8 hours of parking the same as 24 hours. But something small shouldn't ruin my mood. I pay the fee and move to the elevator. I hold the doors for a friendly eldery couple rushing in after me. After some searching I find the car and I am off. At the exit of the garage I turn right in direction of rue la Fayette. The streets are empty, it makes me feel like I am the ruler of Paris. I pass the church of Saint Vincent de Paul, a beautiful roman style church with 2 square towers. There is something spooky about this church he reminds me of some movie the prince of darkness. After the curch I see on my left Gare du Nord, totally dipped in silence and no sight of a living soul. A big difference compared to daytime when there is police, travelers, traders, drug dealers, junkies and clochards. At the crossing with rue de Fauburg Saint-Denis I head north in the direction of Port de La Chapelle, it won't be long before I am on the A1. Then it will only take 20 minutes to Charles de Gaulle. I start to feel butteflies in my belly with the thought that only an hour or so is seperating me from Kate. Nine months I waited for this moment. I feel one way awfully peacefull and excited at the same. A hunch of premination tells me that her flight will arive more early as planned so I am happy with the fact that I got up more early. After 2o minutes of quiet highway I take the exit of Charles de Gaulle. It looks much different then I thought and I feel a bit lost. Also the fact that the signs are pretty confusing, I figure it out and before I know I find a parking place. While walking into the elevator I hear a somebody addressing me. I look over my shoulder and I see again the eldery couple. It's a funny coincedence and we start to laugh. The woman tells me that she is going to pick up her cousin from south Africa. We arrive at the hallway for arrivals. I check the information table, it's 5.20 AM and I see that the flight of Kate already arrived. I rush to the exit where she would appear but there are still no people leaving. With every minute I get more nervous now and I look back over the past months. How we got to plan this, how we spent so much time on Skype. How we built our rituals around our seperated lives with Internet as the thin thread. At some point I see more and more asian people leaving the gate, for me the sign that any moment Kate could arrive..... I am excited and filled with undefined expectations. I see a big suitcase and I see her........ to be continued.

Butterflies in my belly

The clock is ticking, only 43 hours to go and I will meet Kate. It took about 6 months to wait for the moment I would meet her in the flesh. Many questions rise, like: how will be the first aproach, the first touch, the first kiss. Will it be a moment of slow motion, sensing every second to be experienced as an enternal moment, or will it be just a jump and enthousiastic embrace? Will the first kiss be one that is filled with joy and to much reaction, or will it be a slow, thought through intense filled with unhaste? No matter how many times I thought about the conditions and the circumtstances, how many times I ran through the whole setup, the final moment itself will show how it will be. Driven by the senses and feelings at that very moment, reaction to what is felt instantly, without holding back, sliding and giving in to what is felt. One thing is sure, I will feel super conscious about that very moment. I will let go of myself without holding control. But I don't want to rush it, I wanna feel this and keep it as a memory that won't be forgotten. Somehow it feels like somekind of liberation. It feels like homecoming. Maybe there is a lot of imagination added to it. Maybe there is also a lot of idealizing attached to it. But somehow everything feels so damn right about it that I don't care. I know I wasn't writing on my blog for a longer time. Somehow i couldn't find any words to share. Maybe this waiting put me into a vacuum. At least that is how I felt. Nothing in paticular was coming out of me. I couldn't even focus really well on being creative. Like I was sparing myself and keeping it all for that very moment. The best thing that I feel is that I don't have any expectations. I feel totally open for the experience and the adventure. And as I know, Kate feels the same way. She is a wonderful person that knows how to move me. She knows always to push the right buttons. Though I won't let her know she does. But I think she knows. Maybe the unspoken words are the best. The unspoken knowing, that is what a relation, friendship or relation of any kind always make the best. Words can sometimes destroy so much. Why things have to be said when they are sensed so strong? My best guess is that sometimes words are needed just to fill the void. When that is the case, the "real" thing is missing. At least that is something I can really tell from past experiences. Words should be never said, or replace anything that is sensed. In this I refer to the good feelings. Feelings of love and adoration, of longing and passion......

"recalling weeks events"

It was a dreadfull week, one with ups and downs. But we made it. After the harsh mail exchange with a friend, that made me worried and gave me sleepless nights, I was looking forward for my little voyage to Cologne with my friend Hanneke. She challenged me to be on time because me the big mouth said to her to meet at nine A.M. She knows I am one of those time challencing humans, always fighting the clock. So Kate would support me to call me in time. And I made it exactly at nine 0'clock. Hanneke still with her toothbrush in her mouth opened the door, expecting me to be late as usual. So after a quick prep from her, we were ready to leave Eindhoven in direction Germany. While talking we exchanged our latest troubles and events. As forseen she told me about some things that were happening between her and her boyfriend. It was not a suprise because I felt a certain tention when I was over for her birthday some weeks ago. I in exchange told my story about the fight with my friend. We concluded that we would make it a great day and forget about our little troubles of life for a day.

My suprise to her would be a visit to a bookstore from Taschen in Cologne. Man, if you are in books, especially about Art, Architecture, Photography then this is the place to be. I discovered this bookstore in November last year, and I promised myself a present if I find a new job. So the moment came that I wanted to get my present. In my first visit I saw the large Copy about Jan Saudek a rather controversial Czech photographer born in 1935. The book is 28 X 33.3 cm a little of 448 pages and for those who wanna know 4.1 kg.

For those who wanna know more about this phenoma Jan Saudek, I would advice to visit his website especially his curriculum is an interesting part. In 1959 Jan Saudek gets a camera from his girlfriend a Flexarette 6x6. He still uses this camera. A technique he uses in his pictures is coloring them by hand. Therefore giving them the distinguished Jan Saudek carnivalesque apearance.

My favourite picture is titled Hey Joe! Here in a colorized version. What is for me making this picture interesting is the strange post-war apearance. But also what struck me is the sharpness of the clouds compared to other parts of the picture. I believe that the clouds were blended in somehow.

After visiting Cologne we drove off to Solingen, and visited the "Schoß Burg" and the Müngstener Bridge. This construction was started in 1893 and ended in 1897. The Kaiser Wilhelm II gave the order to build this masterpiece. But he refused to appear on the grand opening because the bridge was devoted to the rememberance of the 100 birthday of his grandfather Wilhelm I. Another interesting note is that the bridge is build by the company M.A.N. A company that still exists these days. The bridge is 500 meters long, weighs 5000 ton is 107 meter high measured above the river the "Wupper". They used 950.000 rivets, and a mythology tells the story that one of the rivets is made of gold. The specific rivet is still not found untill this day. After the 1st world war the bridge was renamed Müngstener Brücke.

After a long day we headed home. I was happy to see Hanneke again and to have time to talk and discuss anything that came up. She always inspires me with her passion for illustration and her interesting stories.

Only a month to go

It's almost unbelievable. I started with my countdown counter somewhere around 180 days. At that time I still thought it would be impossible to pass the time. But as I can see now, many things happened in between from that very moment up to this. That kept me going and distracted. Now finally my little princess will come over for a month of holiday. Starting with 3 days in Paris. I look so forward for that moment. The moment of meeting her, but also to greet the city that I love so much. To feel the atmosphere of Paris, and better to experience that with my distant love. I am reading the city guide to pieces and make already virtual tours. Ow how much I would wish to have a dinner again at "La Coupole" at Mont Parnasse. To skid stones in the small canal St. Martin. Or to get lost in Printemps, Lafayette or Semaphore. Walk around at the hidden graveyard of Mont Martre, or just take a nap underneath the Tour Eifel in the grass, and when opening my eyes be suprised seeing the massive structure. It's wonderful how we kept the faith, Kate and I. Sometimes we had our reality checks, then we started to question this strange voyage we started, not knowing where to go. But now we don't care, it was worth the waiting and our love grew steady and we can't miss a day talking. I sometimes think it's the kind of romance that is hard to find these days anymore. It's the kind or romance you normally get to see in a Hollywood flick. But in this society where people are consumed by their own need for consuming, the endless hunt for succes, the detachement of being human and of nature, we feel that this glowing, burning passionate love, is a great gift that we cherish. In 30 days the adventure will start it's second phase, I am longing for it, and I want to feel and experience every second as an eternal moment. I love you Kate.

My Camera Collection

Part two is about the second camera I found today next to the Zeiss Ikon. It's a "Yashica Minister - D". This camera I bought also just on luck, to my suprise this camera was released in 1963, that's the year I was born. So I consider this as luck. Maybe it's not real antique, but it has some emotional value to find a product from this year. What really makes me happy that this camera originally from Japan, has almost no plastic parts. While cleaning the camera the only plastic party I could discover is the lens of the CDS light measuring Censor. This camera must have been pretty revolutionairy with it's very sensitive light censor. The trick is that on top of the camera is a dial that represents the ASA value of the film. The dial has to point at the right value, the light meter will after operating a seperate button on the back of the camera point at a value, this value is to be found at the ring of the lens. After choosing the corresponding value, the camera is ready to shoot. This camera is a rangefinder type, so setting the focus is done with a pretty complex device, consisting of mirrors. They give an image of a yellow box with a center, while focusing the lens the image gives a ghost in the small central dot, when the two images fit together the camera is focused. These were the days that people still had time to make a picture. The technical data on the camera is: Yashica Minister D Manufactured around 1963, 35mm rangefinder camera, Yashica Yashinon 4.5cm f/2.8 and a Copal-SVL shutter (speeds 1 to 1/500 sec, B,M,X , delay action) and an uncoupled CDS exposure meter.

My Camera Collection

Today i was lucky, I was stroling through Antwerpen on my way home, when I found this "eco-shop". It's a second hand shop with all kind of stuff, from second hand kitchen stuff to furniture and everything in between. A quick tour through the shop brought me back to the entrance, when I noticed a small cabinet with some camera's and stuff. The first Camera I noticed was a "Zeis Ikon Box Tengor" with a Goerz Frontar achromat lens. To be more specific it's the first Zeiss Ikon Camera that was prototyped in 1920 and released about 1926, this was the year smaller companies merged into Zeiss Ikon, one of the companies was Goerz, hence the name of the lens. The film format is 120, this means that the size of the pictures taken is 6x9 cm.

It's interesting how those first camera's looked inside. It's a simple box with a film pressure plate in the film housing, keeping the film flat (something quite revolutionairy those days). Furthermore it has 2 shutter speeds, 1/24 and B and to my big suprise it has 3 aperture settings f11, f16 and f22. The aperture is a simple strip of metal with 3 different holes. The camera has 2 simple viewfinders (vertical and horizontal). To operate this type of camera you really need to have good knowledge of photogaphy. On the web are different sites with pictures actually taken with this box. It's one out of three of the Zeiss Ikon cameras in my collection, probably the first model ever released by Zeiss Ikon.

Here is an add for a newer type of the Box Tengor (probably around 1930):

"Underwater Sculptures"

"The all time Fetish Queen"

Bettie Page (born April 22, 1923 in Nashville, Tennessee) was a popular American model and pin-up girl in the 1950s. Page posed for a number of fetish modelling photos in addition to pin-up photos. While she faded into obscurity in the 1960s, she experienced a resurgence of popularity in the 1980s and now has a loyal cult following. It's rather amusing footage of her, and by moments I wondered what she is actually doing, but somehow I couldn't stop watching.

"Sushi Bar"

great idea of placing a camera on a conveyor belt of a Sushi bar in Tokyo. Some people even don't notive the camera passing them, great footage of ordinairy people.....

"50's Pinup style Photography"

On a sunny day at the war museum of Overloon in Holland with a good friend making old style pin ups of her.

Art Freak

Nat

is het gravelpad dat zachtjes kraakt onder mijn gympies. De deur piept hard achter mij dicht. Een rilling glijdt langs mijn rug als ik de geur van een open haard diep opsnuif. Weer dat gemis, Roemenië. Ik blijf een moment staan, snuif nogmaals de geur op, laat het gevoel op mij inwerken. Deze vreemde pijn, de mix van sentiment en gemis. Ik zet mijn voeten richting uitgang van het Begijnhof. Rond dit uur is het meest aangenaam, geen mensen die mij kunnen zien, geen mensen die ik wil zien. Eindelijk het regent, zachtjes hoor ik het druppen met hier en daar het gekletter van een kapotte regengoot waar het water met meer geweld op de grond valt. Ik kom bij de uitgang van het Begijnhof en draai af richting kerk. Langzaam wandel ik, mijn blik naar de grond gericht. Ik zie het gat in mijn rechterschoen. Geen geld voor nieuwe en geen geld voor reparatie. Onwillekeurig denk ik na over dit probleem. Hoe lang zou het nog duren voordat ik schoenen kan kopen? Ik vraag me af hoe lang het nog duurt voordat ik weer fatsoenlijk boodschappen durf te doen. De afgelopen 2 jaar hebben mij totaal geconditioneerd om bijna geen geld meer uit te geven. Zeker niet aan eten. Althans het kost mij de grootste moeite om dat te doen. Ik loop voorbij de kerk die statig de donkere nacht in torend. Honderden jaren oud, onverstoorbaar zoveel gezien en te vertellen. Ik kom bij de automatique, ik verga van de dorst. ik zoek naar iets wat me zal bevallen. Ik zie een vrolijk blikje met knallende kleuren, iets exotisch. Ik werp 2 euro in de gleuf en bestudeer hoe een soort van robot lift het blikje behendig opvangt en naar de uitgang transporteert. Ik hoor het vegen van een bezem en zie aan de overkant de kelner van "den Bottel" het terras schrobben. Ik kijk om me heen en zie een andere automaat. Het was mij ontgaan dat er ook bier te verkrijgen was. Bier uit een automaat. Belgischer kan het niet. Ze hebben ook wijn, ik besluit er een wijntje bij te nemen. Nog een zak chips en ik ben weer op pad. Ik erger mij dat het Lays chips zijn. Te zout en niet te vreten. Ik baal van deze merken die het straatbeeld en de winkelrekken vult. Diversiteit aan smaak gaat verloren door de globalisten. Lays, Pringles, Coke, Pepsi allemaal hetzelfde. Ze maken ons dom en willen ons doen geloven dat het "cool" is om deze merken te gebruiken, dat het geluk in een cola blikje zit. Ik loop terug naar de kerk en buig net voor de kerk af. Ik loop langs een paar graven. Mijn oog valt op een fotootje van een jonge knaap in strak en stijf pak. 1924-1945 zie ik in het donker. Ontrukt uit ons leven door een vliegende bom. Ik loop verder langs de paar overgebleven graven. Waarschijnlijk was het kerkhof veel groter vroeger dan de 10-tal graven die er nu nog staan. Meer als decoratie dan als kerkhof denk ik bij mezelf. Ik kom op de lange straat achter de kerk die recht naar het oude kasteel loopt. De jeugdgevangenis. Terwijl ik loop kijk ik om me heen, neem alle details in mij op, schaduwen die bewegen achter gordijnen, blauw licht van televisies flakkert tegen de muren. Ik denk aan gisteravond, aan het feestje waar ik was en wat mij vervulde vol walging en afschuw. Goedkoop plat publiek, nederlandse import in België. Dikke naakte vrouwen, die dansen op een podium, oud vlees in goedkoop lak bij elkaar gebonden. Veertiger mannen die nog even gesnoven hebben aan een flesje testoseron. Lillend oud vlees op Organza achtige beats. Nietszeggend, afgetakeld, plat, decadent, genitaliën gericht, breinloos. Ow ik liet me weer eens meeslepen in mijn eigen enthousiamse en daar stond ik dan. Balen, van de entreeprijs, balen van de opgewarmde diepvries saté, dat als eten door moest gaan. Balen van de muziek, de goedkope parfum van de vrouwen om mij heen. Ik speelde mee, ik deed alsof ik het leuk vond, tenslotte had ik betaald, maar ik was liever thuis gebleven. Soms moet je dit denk ik zien, om te weten wat je niet wilt, en om zeker te weten wat je wel wilt. Mijn afkeer voor groepsdingen, groepsmensen, platte humor, onderbroekenlol wordt ook nog eens versterkt. Ik zei vandaag tegen Kate, ik wil meer en meer mij afzonderen van mensen. Ik heb meer en meer minder trek in mensen, zelfs vrienden. Ik wil mijn eigen kleine wereldje, mijn eigen bubble en iedereen buiten houden. Ik kan het tegen haar zeggen omdat ze het begrijpt. Ze is ook zo. Ze wil het ook. Vreemd dit meisje aan de andere kant van de aardbol, andere culttuur en andere leeftijd, en ze voelt hetzelfde. Soms is er best wel die angst dat ik het idealiseer en dat ik wil dat ze hetzelfde is, maar toch, ik zie het en voel het. Zijn we dan toch die soulmates? Ik ben intussen bij de weg naar de nachtwinkel aangekomen. Ik denk weer aan een paar jaar geleden, aan Boekarest. Die vreemde ontheemdheid, die depressieve omgeving die mij gelukkig maakte. Ik den aan Garbage, "I am only happy when it rains". Ja het is waar ik ben alleen gelukkig als het regent. Terwijl ik peins hoor ik de deurbel van de nachtwinkel, even gauw een doos kattevoer.....

The most obsolete institute in this world

It was some coincedence that I saw last week the visit of the pope in Brazil and next to that a historical part of a series about Rome. The part was about the emperor Constantine and how he overtook power, defeated his enemies and installed the christian religion as the new state religion. This event was not merely because he was such a true believer but more because it was a strategic decission otherwise his empire would be torn up by the differences in religion. The story also goes that he was only baptized before he died, and that the circumstances were more that he was to weak to resist then actually asking for it. What this all has to do with the pope. It's quite simple, it was at the council of Nicea at June 325 AD that Constantine put down the rules for the modern church as we know it. To make Christian religion more addeptable to the non Christians he even added some none Christian symbols and rituals into the Christian church. Furthermore he and his bishops anounced Jezus to be the son of God and also removed some of the original testaments of some Apostels. When I actually think in what way and under which circumstances the basics for the Catholic church are founded then the whole concept of the Catholic church becomes even more ridiculous.

And here I am today finding myself in front of the tube, seeing an old guy dressed up in a richly embroided curtain telling us what to do, no abortions, no sex with condoms, no sex before marriage, no gays and no lesbians, no to all that is forbidden by the rules of the church or else you go to hell or you become excomunicated. There was even a time that sex was sure something that would entirely be something for reproduction and pleasure was an evil thing. So is that all this guy can anounce? What solutions they really bring to this world? Thousands of people are dying every day of war and starvation. Many of those wars even have a religious background. People are dying and killed for no reason, but all this joker can make a fuss about is the things I mentioned before. Only punishment, no solutions. Actually not even the love or compassion that they praise and spread. I have much respect for the real priests and nuns working in harsh conditions and show mercy and compassion to those who need it most, it's just a pitty thing that with that the catholic believe is spread as a true thing. The only truth is the purity of these solitude workers and their own personal faith. In my opinion the church has nothing to do with it and the Catholic religion is just a bad joke. And for that you just have to look into history. It was not that long ago that people were burned for being different. Hell they even whiped out complete societies that were supposed to be a threat to their power. In that case I respect much Sinead o'Connor when she was tearing up the picture of the former pope. But she was perfectly right, rulers from ivory towers. Talking about hell and damnation for us sinners. The only thing I appreciate of the church is the beauty of architecture and the art that was created over the years. In my opinion there is not any true religion. Most religions only created suffering, war, dirty politics, differences and power to the wrong people. As far as I can see the church as an institute is just a concept created by people who wanted to overpower people. The true story about Jezus and God we will never know because in time the bible is only filled with deformations and lies. True believe is in every normal person, we all know where lies the difference in wrong and right. It's time to whipe out all traces of religion and that we start to search for the responsebility in ourselves, instead of blaming a God for all terror in this world. Common sense and feeling the energy around us is all we need. In fact the Church became obsolete and one day we will just find the remains of churches as we find pyramids nowadays. A witness of some other religion that faced this world in the past.

The Inner Circle

There are always hidden worlds amongst ours, that are for a few obvious to attend for others never to be discovered. Some of these worlds have a long mystical background and are centuries old. Filled with rituals and secret initations. Others consist of fullfilling ones desires and fantasies, but to much of a taboo to be showed in the open. I like sometimes to wander around in these twilight zones of mankind. To observe, to experience to meet interesting people to add to my collections of extraordinairy experiences. A few weeks ago was one of those nights. Thru a friend I was invited to attend a party in Bruxelles. The party was arranged by a circle op people that have a greater interest in SM with a special interest in bondage. Though I am not interested to be a subject to it, I am more interested in the visual aspect of it. For me bondage is an Art and feast for the eyes instead of something I would like to experience physically. My attraction to SM is not so physical either, it's more or less the fascination for the game of power then a game of pain. I see it more as an interesting psychilogical experience of trust and power. I always wonder who is really in control, the dominating one or the submissive one? Anyway, we took off to Bruxelles that is a small hour of driving, and we found ourselves back in a small street in the heart of this european capital. The address that was given to us looked rather abandoned, in the street was no living soul and nothing pointed out that there would be a gathering or party of some kind. The building was caught in between some other buildings that at daytime were probably shops. The address itself looked like a travel agency, but one that used to have it's glory days some decades ago. It showed a window with pictures of the caribean, a surf board, fish nets and some other tropical objects decorating the space behind the glass. The pictures were yellowed by the sunlight, the objects looked dusty. My first thought was that this travel agency went out of business some time ago. Next to the window was a glass door with two people at the end of a rich decorated hallway. Somehow the hallway didn't fit to the facade of the building. Therefore it looked like secret passage to another dimension. The decorations in the wall were marble pieces mostly found in old french style fireplaces. They were put in the wall like parts of a jigsaw puzzle. We stepped in and the people gave us a warm welcome. They checked the guestlist and then let us through into a "vestiaire". We put down our coats and then went on. The next door let us into a small room with a bar. The passages between the main hallway and the bar were all a bit tiny, therefore making the feeling stronger of something secret, a hidden world. The host made us feel welcome and we payed our contribution of 40 euro's. It included the whole evening of food, entertainment and drinks. We moved on to the other room and for a moment I was startled. It's hard to describe how it looked. It was rather overwhelming. The main area was like 3 stories high, and I could look all the way up. The whole place was richly decorated, and gave a feeling of a boudoir. But a closer look revealed all kinds of crazy objects. The main color was of the room was red it was filled with objects like old telephones, scarfs, glass beats, curly iron frames, french lillys, flowers, old electrical switch boards, industrial objects, mirrors, chains, antiques, objects of Art Deco and Art Noveau, chairs, tables, pillows, sofa's, a bar, signs. I mean I can't still find words to describe the atmosphere, but I have to say it was breathtaking. Maybe you could say it was a collection of junk, but still it was put with so much fantasy and creativity that you never had a dull moment just looking around. The room was filled with the invited guests, and everybody had his own style of clothes. There were people dressed in black, some more fetish style, with leather, lack or latex. Everybody had his or her style, and there was a highly erotic atmosphere. In some smaller area next to the main area was a cloaking room with small closets to put away our bags. When I made a tour thru this place I saw many objects to fullfill different acts for bondage, SM but also for plain sexual games. I found some stairs up to the stories that were visible from the main room, and every floor had it's own destinct atmosphere. A Jacuzzi was found, many rooms with cozy corners with pillows and matrasses. One room contained even a motorcycle with sidecar and a Deux Chevaux, something to fullfill the most outrageous fantasy? As the night went on many interesting acts were done, and some very interesting bondage acts were shown to the audience. The food and drinks were terrific. I met some very interesting people and I had a good time trying to make conversation in French without even speaking one word of it. The level of the people was from a very different kind then I normally meet on the more ordinairy fetish events and parties. Therefore admittance to this inner circle is strictly on invitation only. This is the safeguard to prevent the event from sliding down into something common and maybe dirty. I was delighted to be part of this special ocassion and I am looking forward for the next one to come.

"JOB"

The past weeks I experienced like a passing huricane. Now I sit here with my cup of Turkish coffee. Staring at the ceiling. Thoughts follow each other in slow pace. It's just now that I start to understand the impact of the sudden change in my life. It's 20 months. Yes 20 months ago that I lost my job. It was the start of unwanted events and total devistation for a longer period that would be ahead of me. And somehow I knew it, the day my manager told me that he didn't want to work with me anymore. I saw it coming but I ignored it all the time. The moment he spoke those words, this hypocrytical bastard, I was filled with sorrow but I was also set free. His distrust that I felt for months, the way he treated me as if I would be somekind of suspect. I couldn't stand the pressure. I know partly I am cause of the problem, because it's a fact that I can't stand people who look over my shoulders, pressuring me, controlling me. I function the best when I am free and trusted. Slowly I lost my trust and my motivation. I got phonecalls on the middle of the day to check to see what I was doing. While my colleagues were at the same time getting their kids from school during business hours. He was expecting results from me in 6 months that would be normally be reasonable to expect in 3 years. It's a long story and to detailed to get to the point why this is so, but believe me I know the business well. Anyway. The situation was not paticular good to find within a reasonable time again a job, so I was fearing the worst.

I put a lot of effort in trying to find a new job, but like I mentioned the climate for a new job was not that good. Of course there were enough jobs available as simple labor in some factory, but I was even refused for that. Their simple answer was that my background was to heavy to do a simple job. So I had to turn to the welffare and get money to live. And boy, I was hit back hard to poverty. Of course there are always people having a worser situation then mine. At the end of the day I had a more expensive rent and other costs based on the wage I earned before. But when you are without money, it's not easy just to move and find another place to live. Then again I was also positive in changing my situations and find a decent job again, so I would be able to continue living in this house and things would be back soon to normal.

But I was wrong, it took me 20 months. First I was enjoying the freetime, after working for more then 25 years I felt that after so many dissapointments I was entitled to make a step back and just make from this bad situation also something I could enjoy. So I was able to focus on making art and pictures. I even had the hope that maybe with working hard and making pictures I could change my profession. But, at the end I only met people that were using me. Because I didn't proof myself as photographer I thought it would be wise to do some networking and proof myself worthy as a photographer. But I am sorry to say, Belgiums are only interested in something when it's for free. So it didn't quite work, I think I also met the wrong people. One among the was P. (I won't mention his name). We started to have a friendship where I was doing different things in photography for him because he tried to manage a band. But the friendship became sour. Most of it was alcohol abuse and drug abuse. I can't deal with people that do this and can't take them serious.

In those 20 months my financial situation became bad, my debts raised and I couldn't pay my rent anymore. And there was nowhere I could turn to or some way to deal with it. Besides of that I started to loose the rythm of everyday life. Living single and without a job and also being somekind of creative night owl, my life started to shift from daytime to nighttime, A very bad but logical thing to happen. Besides of that i was really in some depressed moods, and I don't feel like mention to much about it but was a very serious condition. An other thing that happened is that as an unemployed person you become "conterminated" and most people didn't want to deal with me anymore. It only proofs that our society is only mentioned for people that have succes. It made so clear how everything functions and I even understand more about people that loose everything and why they become the way they are. I was always balancing on the edge. I have to admit I gave up on myself pretty much. But always found some way to manage to keep on breathing and move on with it. Also my lovelife was "zero". It looked like I had a sign on my forehead saying, hurt this sucker. So to prevent in loosing total control of my life I started working in a factory and later at DHL Logistics. Believe me I can write books about it. Normally I worked as key accountmanager for several jobs and now I was packing lipsticks at DHL in cartons. I don't feel to good for a job like that, but boy, the people. Racism, ignorance, disrespectfull, stupid, and more of these labels I can use for the environment I had to work in. I don't feel better then any other, I can addept easily but believe me it was hell to work like that. I was even accused to be to smart. I just wanted to do my fucking job and be left alone. The most idiot thing of it all was that the wage was even less then the wellfare money that I would get normally. So just by being a good citizen and work I was even punished by getting less money.

So it's 20 months, and I started the 1st of may as accountmanager again. I still can't believe it, I can't believe I survived this ordeal and slowly are getting on my feed again. It was the worst time of my life and I lost a lot of trust in other people. I also see how society hardened and that there is no place for people that have no job. Who volunteers for having no job anyway? In my opinion having a job is overrated, and at least I kept a few friends that never judged me on what I do but on who I am. I am somehow glad that I experienced this period and the first thing I did yesterday, is cleaning up my addressbook, maillist and MSN list. I have at least again a bit control in my life, though I still have to deal with 20 months of build up debts. It will take a couple of years to get back on my feet but to close this story with the one event that started this all; meeting Kate, she made me feel rich again.

Irina Ionesco

It was 1974, I was about 11 years old. As a boy I always liked to stumble around at the addic of my grandparents. My grandfather was receiving every month a magazine called "Stern". It was a german monthly magazine that was filled with stories about politics, scandals, documentaries, movies, music and now and then also some nudity. As 11 years old boy I was just discovering the secrets of sexuality, the things that parents didn't talk about. The more things were covered up the more I was curious. One day I sneaked up the addic and I found one of the editions of "Stern". On the front page was a picture of a girl, she was rather young but the way she was photographed was highly erotic, at the same time the picture radiated something magical. It turned out that the pictures were made by Irini Ionesco, and the girl in the pictures was her very own daughter Eva.

Irina Ionesco (born on September 3, 1935) is a French photographer born in Paris, France. She was the daughter of Romanian immigrants. She spent her childhood years in Constanţa, Romania before she moved to Paris. She traveled and painted for several years before discovering photography. Her work is described as erotic.In 1974 she exhibited some of her work at the Nikon Gallery in Paris and attracted lots of attention. She was soon published in numerous magazines, books, and featured at galleries across the globe.

I remember the article, because I watched german television I could read german easily. The article mentioned that she was received quite controversial because she was picturing her own daughter in erotic and nude settings. The first pictures she made Eva was just 5. She had her studio just at home in her small appartment. The windows were covered with shutters to keep the light out and the walls and ceiling were painted black. The interior looked like a boudoir and all the accessories gave a magical feeling of a fairytale world. The funny thing about this is that she used really cheap and old fabrics, lace and objects. Nothing of what she used had any value. But it was the magic she made with her lens, and the way how she used the objects and fabrics. What she was doing with old fabrics she was also applying to the models. She like to have an ugly model and then create the magic and turn the model into a mysterious representation of beauty. The way she worked she taught completely herself, her gear consisted of a simple SLR camera with a 50 mm lens. She was actually a painter who by coincedence discovered photography.

Some people were condemning her method regarding the nude pictures of her daughter, others were seeing her as a genius. Nevertheless, I never felt that this was something bad, there was a certain beauty and mystical feeling radiating from her pictures and even now I can remember the strange feelings they stirred up in me. It was not somekind of sexual feeling, it was something deep, untouchable. A longing to melt into the odd scene, this hidden world, this boudoir like atmosphere. I think that these pictures left a mark in my mind that would stay forever. I never saw such beauty in a pictures again, and I can still feel lost looking at them. It took many years that Irina would be acknowledged as an important photographer that had a larger influence. Strange enough she became very liked in Japan, and over the years she traveled many times to Japan and had quite a few expositions in Japan. There are even some limited books published in Japan that cost around $900. Though her role is important for photography she is not known by many people. I think she is one of the rare photographers that knew how to expose the beauty of women in a way that still makes me speechless. I can only stare and wonder. It creates a longing to something unknown, something lost. It's hidden beauty, mysterious, mystical, there is space for guessing and exploring. Especially in these days where nudity and porn are found everywhere her pictures even have more value. My biggest wish is to find one day a copy of one of her books.

Old times

When I did my duty I went to the airforce and was later stationed in a secret cave in the south of Holland. It was called the Joint Operations Center and it was a HQ of Nato. I was working as a telex operator. Telex is nowadays a fossile of communication. I remember the times around x-mas and new year when the connected stations were sending messages with drawings that were completely build up from characters. Later on the net when there were no pictures, only text, people were using the same technique, nowadays knows as ASCII drawings. Looking around on YouTube I found one drawing as a sort of comment, that I found rather funny. So I thought to post it here.

................... .... ... /´ /)
.................... ..,../¯ ..//
.................... ..../... ./ /
.................... ..,/¯ ..//
.................... ./... ./ /
............./´¯/' ...'/´¯`•¸
........../'/.../... ./... ..../¨¯\
........('(...´(... ....... ,~/'...')
.........\.......... ..... ..\/..../
..........''...\.... ..... . _.•´
............\....... ..... ..(
..............\..... ..... ...\

Disgusting MSN

Everytime when I open my MSN I get this stupid unwanted news window, with really stupid news items, like "boy and girl make love in wrong car" or "overview of plastic surgery gone bad". Like I really would be interested in this kind of brainless news.

But today something else caught my atttention, here is a picture of that item, it's in dutch and I will make a small translation:



In a nutshell it's a news item about the shooter of Virginia Tech "Cho Sueng Hui". The little story states how he send a package containg several video's, pictures and letters to NBC. So far nothing bad, it's all over the news and it may be considered as important, though I wonder why because this happens every day in Iraq. It's a tragedy indeed, but we have far more bigger tragedies outside and they never make the news. Anyway, what is my concern and what makes me disgusted about MSN is the 2 buttons underneath the story. One button is green and says: "kicken" what would be translated mean something like "cool" and the other button in red says "dumpen" what maybe some of you will indeed recognize. It means "dump". If there would be some hilaric or bizar story I would eventually understand and even laugh about the matter. But this voting system is really disgusting. You can actually see that the whole setup for this site is focused on youths. And that is exactly my point, this is how our society is evolving. It's shallow, brainless and totally superficial and with a total lack of feelings to make news like something you can shoot at like in a shooting gallery.Hot or not, cool or dump, is this really how this kind of news should be rated? Anyway it seems that rating systems are found everywhere on the net it's this kind of bullshit we see everywhere everyday. The problem is that any nitwit can put news on this site because it's in the section of "MSN reporter". So here is a platform offered to people to put news in a section where you can rate it as cool or dump. Do the developers of MSN have any brain at all? Or why is there not any editing on what would be accepted to put up here? What the fuck is wrong with this world? Why do we accept this and why some assholes think that we find this funny or even want this kind of garbage? It's totally the wrong place and the wrong thing to do. And even the fact that we have free services like MSN messenger and therefore are accepting this is actually the sad story of today. A lot of people will say, you don't have to look at it. It's like TV you just change the channel. But my point is that teenagers are part of this thing, and they become shallow and without any sense what is acceptable or not because they are exposed to this every day. Once the internet was a beautiful anarchistic thing without control and direction. But when it became the territory of the commercialists it was the end of a beautiful beginning.

"Erotikon"

Last monday was the official Kick-off of the project "Erotikon" I mentioned before. This was done at the 5th anniversay of the Colorbar in Antwerpen. The first part of the evening would be one for VIP and press the second part would be for the audience. To elaborate what this is all about; I take part in the project as a performer of one dance. See my former weblog entry.

We startd last monday at 1.00 pm with a general rehearsal. Putting the last details in place. For me it was the first time I had to rehearse with the tailormade outfit for this show. And of course some problems came up. The outfit was made so that my fellow dancers could stript me down. Because the show has an erotic background with fetishism angles the outfit was made from leather. But it turned soon out that while dancing I could loose my trousers. That was not completely the plan. So we made some small adjumstments on the spot. The funny thing was that the club where this kick-off took place has a stage but that it's not really meant for theatrical productions. So there would be some practical problems in how we approach the stage etc. But for the rest everything was fine, just being creative and solution driven makes things work. The team of people were amazing. First of all there is Marc Bogaerts he is the choreograph and he worked, to name a few, with the Royal Ballet of Flanders and Cirque du Soleil. He did a good job to teach people with no dancing experience at all in a few weeks with just a couple of rehearsals to perform a complete dance. We are still amateurs but for the untrained audience it looked perfect. Totally I performed 2 times that night. The biggest challenge was to hide my private parts. Because the at of the dance I am symbolicly "freed" of my malehood. And that will be revealed at the end so I had to hide my "pride" ;-) very well. I consulted a transvestite and it turned out that a lot of color skin tape is needed amongst some other rahter painfull tricks. So now I am anxious for the big show on 11 and 12 may. And I hope to find soon some pictures and eventual video's to add on this weblog about Erotikon.

Loveletters from Taiwan

Finally, they came. Kate her mail from Taiwan. Not just some ordinairy email, but real old fashioned physical evidence of the existence of a real person. How strange that I even call email ordinairy, but actually that's what it is these days. I found the note on the floor of my hallway and I rushed to the postoffice. Strange enough she made 2 attempts before, the first letter never arrived and the second one was sent back because I missed the note of arrival between the pile of paper spam I get on a daily bases. When I drove back on my bicycle, my heart started to beat in an crazed frequency. I realized that this was the first time I was holding something in my hands that she created. The very first physical touch of something that made 10.000 km of travel and what she had in her hands untill the moment came to push it thru the opening of a mailbox. The package contained many things, it made me feel I am for a moment part of her world. A ticket of some gig, a sticker, a cd with her professional photo's (for my project to build her a website), 2 letters, an index that showed the content of the package written in colorfull lines, her old plectrum, her phonebill (only one page out of 10) covered with my phonenumber (she named it the proof of our growing love), a birthday card, a sticker of old Paris and a brochure from some Donut chain. Ow how much I love being this silly over her package. It's a fact one day back in history I refused to grow up and I can feel very silly about these tokens and little stuff she sends me. I keep it under my pillow and sometimes before sleeping I read the letters again. I am greedy for her handwriting, I am greedy with the idea how her beautiful hands touched the paper with care and passion. Now it's my turn to send something back. I have to admit I prosponed it, but I also had some practical reasons for that. But I came up with the idea not send a letter but a small notebook. I started writing one night in the garden, a bottle of wine next to me, a candle for light. The idea to use a book is that it will travel back and forth between us. Thus adding words to each others writings. Next to words anything can be glued or taped inside this book. One day we will hold this book in our hands, and smile and see how our love evolved. The idea of creating something physical rather then something digital is wonderful old fashioned but somehow so much more value. Really Kate, I love us being silly!

The magical number of 100

Long I waited for this moment, though it's just another milestone for the real event. Today it will be 100 days from now that I will finally meet my little muse from Taiwan. But just another day and it will be less then 100 that I have to wait. When I came up with the idea to put this countdown on my weblog I was thrilled. One for mastering a piece of Java and second that I visually kept informed about the passing time. Time is a funny thing. Coz working an hour always takes longer then having fun for one hour. What came to my attention that in the beginning the days seem to fly. But later when the countdown was steadily going down with the same pace, it felt that it will take a lifetime before I meet her. But the feeling is still the same, she is worth the waiting, and it's funny how our relationship is evolving over the net. Me behind my PC mastering different programms on design, and photography, she doing her assingments and reading a book every 2 days. With the cam open it feels like we already have a life together. Maybe for others this will look like rubbish and foolish, and sometimes we need a reality check, but isn't it after all what our hearts desire and what we can make true? My reality check was also receiving mail, and I am not just talking the e-mail thing, I am talking about the real thing. Seeing her handwriting, her crazy thoughts, her stickers, her little things like the used plectrum made my heart almost jump from my chest. So now I keep it under my pillow and my most valuable treasure. Now it's my turn to send something back, I am excited about it and thinking what kind of stuff I can send from my world to hers. Much of my ideas are disturbed by my muse, because she already threw me some wishes, haha. I have the trust that being together will even be much more fun then it's now. I know, we are just 2 crazy people, from different worlds, age, culture and who knows what. But still we don't feel any difference at all. Another 100 days and a new chapter will be written in our book of adventures......

Kate's Lyrics

everytime when i see you walk into my sight

I can feel theres always something in your eye

the way youre walking like that, talking like that, acting like a homeless cat,

thats not the way I want it

theres someone whos taking away all your pride

I can feel all the fears running thro your mind

though I don't know what its like, be hurted like that, the wounds they just won't heal till now.

*wake up now, and find your light

its the chance of a lifetime

Don't waste it, don't waste it.

open your arms, embrace your life

Don't waste your tears, don't waste your tears for that.

These Lyrics kate wrote for me in the very beginning. And though I had the idea I was able to keep the pain inside of my past, she was seeing it all. She touched me deeply then, and she still touches me deeply now. I am silly sometimes and I can mix up names, but she knows it, how much place she has in my life. She inspired me to follow the light, she inspired me to believe in love again. And it's true, perception sometimes changes to much because of our experiences. So it's us who have to bend the perception back in it's original state, the state that makes us flow again like the winding river, instead of being the standing pool. I love you Kate for opening my senses.